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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362780">Bloom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13'>millijayne13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Confessions, Crushes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Healing, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:27:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Healing doesn't happen overnight. It’s a process that can take months, if not, years to come to terms with. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. Harry finally feels ready to confront feelings that have long been sat, growing unattended in the recesses of his mind and soul.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter &amp; Reader, Harry Potter/Original Character(s), Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bloom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite</p>
<p>Warnings: feelings of sadness, grief, worthlessness, more visits to graveyards, talks of death. This sounds dark, and parts are, but there is so much fluff and comfort and pining in this.</p>
<p>Thank you so much for reading!! Please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Harry’s Flat, London, England, October.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the fourth night this week, sleep evades him. Deciding to surrender this particular battle, Harry sits up in bed and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With clearer vision, he turns to the digital clock next to where he places his glasses. He hangs his head in his hands when he reads the time. not even two hours of sleep before he awoke; his mind unwilling to alleviate him long enough for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He supposes it could be a good thing, or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he throws the covers off his body and swings his legs out of bed. As he sits on the edge of his bed, Harry gives himself a moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gives himself only a single moment to give into the tidal wave threatening to drown him. A single moment simply to feel everything before he packs it all away into corresponding drawers in his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A heavy sigh leaves him as he plods into the living room and through to the kitchen. As he boils the kettle, he thinks of you and your ingrained belief that everything can be put to rights over a cup of tea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Settling in the living room, he grabs the remotes for the television. Turning it on, he switches the volume to mute, not wanting loud noises, but rather the comfort of monotonous moving pictures. Harry cannot tell what the programme is; a muggle show dedicated to archaeology, he thinks, but he pays it little mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He runs a hand down his face; feeling the tiredness deep within his bones. The insomnia had started in the months after the end of the war; beginning with repetitive nightmares in which he would suffer through the deaths of his friends countless times before being awoken by the sounds of his own screams. From there, it shifted into a fear of sleep, a terror of closing his eyes and seeing Hermione’s or Ron’s lifeless bodies. He knows – he knows they are alive and well, but the fear remains.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wonders how long he’ll continue to feel like this should do nothing; how long he will deal with the sleepless nights and the nightmares that greet him when he does close his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, as he watches the soundless pictures play on the television, he cannot help but feel an urge to get better. To do better and to be better in all that he does. At the age of eighteen, he defeated the darkest wizard to have ever walked the earth in the last century. At the age of twenty three, five years later, he feels close to laughter that he has let his life come to this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But no-one warned him of the aftermath of the war. No-one readied him for the feelings of guilt that twists his stomach; leaving him unable to eat. No-one explained to him just how long the nightmares would last; seeing the faces of those that fell at the battle of Hogwarts and before as he tries and tries to dream of happy things.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s bottom lip begins to wobble. The tears won’t fall. It’s been years, Harry thinks, since he had cried in earnest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Harry sits on his couch for the fourth night that week, he readies himself to start putting his life back together again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, October.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Burrow had always, to Harry at least, been a place full of happy memories. The home of the Weasley family physically exuded warmth and happiness. To put it bluntly, it was Harry’s safe haven; the place he could go where he would find no judgement for his state of sleeplessness or lack of appetite. He would catch Molly watching him worriedly, but she knew not to press, and for that, he was thankful. To appease her worries, or at least to lessen them slightly, he visits the Weasley matriarch once a week.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Immediately, Harry is wrapped up in hug after hug. Molly keeping her hands on Harry’s cheeks as she moves his head side to side, getting a good look at him. She clamps her lips together to keep the frown from forming on her face; worry rises in her gut, but she does not voice it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The food cooking on the stove has Harry’s mouth watering as he walks through the kitchen to the large table in the dining area. There, he finds your eyes. They remain on the door as he walks through, as if you knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mate,” Ron greets; pushing a drink into Harry’s hand. Harry nods at Ron, taking a swig of his drink before smiling at Hermione.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He moves to sit next to you; wanting nothing more than to sit by your side so he can tell his plan of which he came up with by himself. All around him conversation continues as if he had never walked in in the first place. He supposes that’s bit big-headed of him to think, but as he looks around those he classes as his family, he comes to realisation that they’ve all started to move on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It hits him then and there; just how terrified he is of being left behind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How have you been?” You ask; voice gentle and caring as you lean into him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry smiles at you; spooning vegetables onto his plate but feeling no pangs of hunger. “You just saw me last week,” Harry reminds in humour; his attempt at avoiding the twinges of fear ravaging his gut.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You roll your eyes, “That means it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. So, how have you been?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry hears the meaning in your words; he hears the undercurrent of worry in your voice, and it only adds to the pit growing in his stomach. After his decision the other night, it was as if all the realisations hit him at once and he came to see just how much of a bad friend he had been to you all. He’d had been so caught up in his self-loathing that he failed to see just how much you were struggling with it all; he hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Hermione had also sought out help too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry nods; reaching for his knife and fork, “I’ve been okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even he can hear the lie in his voice, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, you don’t address it. You simply nod; patting his hand twice before turning your attention to your own meal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cutlery scrapes on plates as happy conversation lightens the atmosphere. It isn’t mentioned, but it is there – the absence of Fred’s laughter and his smile, the pointed comments, and his love for his mother. It is there, and it only adds to the guilt pooling in Harry’s stomach and invading his bloodstream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s as if you sense it; as if you sense Harry starting to spiral, his thoughts turning to that dark place that he so often finds himself in. It’s as if you know; changing the hand in which your fork sits to free up your other hand so you can take Harry’s under the table and squeeze. A silent reminder if there is any.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I’m here</em>, you remind him, <em>I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry squeezes back; unable to do or say anything else, meeting Arthur Weasley’s pained eyes from across the table, and beginning to wish that he had in fact done and said more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the age of eighteen years old, harry defeated the darkest wizard in a century. Yet, he had lost a friend he had classed as a brother, and now finds it hard to look Molly and Arthur in the eye.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a lapse in conversation and Harry slips his hand free of yours, needing to leave the room before the guilt he’s sitting in drowns him. He smiles apologetically at each Weasley, eyes lingering on the empty chair across from George and promptly leaves the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The night air is cold against Harry’s bare arms as he sits on one of the many benches littering the Weasley’s gardens. It’s so cold that his breath is coming out in white puffs, but he doesn’t feel the need to fetch his coat. In fact, he would rather feel the cold against his skin. It reminds him that he’s alive and that he’s breathing. It reminds him of those are who no longer living.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stiffens at the sounds of footsteps behind him; his hand immediately reaching for his wand kept in his back pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry relaxes somewhat when he realises it was you who followed him outside, and not Ron or Hermione. He doesn’t turn, but he smiles when he hears you swear quietly, having tripped on a rogue stone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You sigh as you sit down on the bench next to him; rubbing at your sore knee.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How are you not freezing?” You ask; rubbing at your clothed arms, not happy with the chill seeping through to your bones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry releases a breath; it puffs white, “I don’t feel it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You raise an eyebrow; running a finger over his arm which is covered in goosebumps, “I beg to differ.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry doesn’t reply; he flashes a smile your way before returning his attention to the night sky and all that he can see of what the Weasley’s own. For a few minutes, no words are spoken between you both. Sinking into a silence that could only be described as comfortable; he doesn’t feel the constant need to reassure you that he’s okay. You check in on him every now and then, but no true pestering takes place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Truthfully, Harry basks in your attention. He rather likes the fact that you do make a fuss of him when you check in on him because he’s sure that without you, he would be doing a lot worse than the nightmares and insomnia.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Breaking the silence, you broach the subject of Harry’s health, “Harry, can I give you the name and number of my therapist? I’ve made real progress since working with her, and I think you will too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry smiles at you; feeling grateful for your help but feeling like an awful friend for shaking his head and declining your offer. “I just… I don’t feel ready yet to speak to someone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You nod your head, “I get that, but Harry, it’s been five years since the end of the war, and you know how I worry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nods, letting the conversation collapse into nothing in front of him. This is the time, he realises, to tell you his plans for getting better that don’t involve divulging his deepest and darkest secrets to a stranger, even if they are a trained professional.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have a favour to ask you,” Harry prompts, “And I’ll understand if you say no.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I can help you, Harry, I’ll do anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to speak to anyone, not yet at least, but I do want to start moving on.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So what’s the favour?” You ask; your curiosity piqued with his mystery.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want to visit the places where things have happened, whether they’re good or bad. I want to go back, and I want to see them in a different light.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That,” You pause; thinking of your next words, “That sounds like a really good idea, Harry. Where do I come into it though?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry smiles at you sheepishly; running a hand through his forever messy hair. “I want you to come with me,” He states as plain as day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d like for you to come with me,” Harry amends, “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What about Ron or Hermione? I’m sure they would help.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, “They’re both so busy, and they’re starting their lives together. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for either of them if I can help it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You sigh, picking at an invisible thread on your sleeve, “How were you thinking of doing this? I have to work too, you know. Not everyone can inherit a fortune, Potter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry blinks, letting your words settle before a small smile breaks across his face, “You’d come with me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Harry,” You start, “I don’t think there was any chance of me saying no to you. If I can help you in any way, I can. I’m always here for you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The familiar burn of tears starts at the back of his throat. Harry has to avert his eyes; glancing up at the night sky as he swallows past the lump in his throat. He should have known you would say yes; you’ve been by his side for everything since Third Year, but the small voice in the back of his mind had him doubting whether you would.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” He whispers eventually.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So,” You begin, “Where too first?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, November.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Upon the untimely death of Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been passed down to Harry through Sirius’ will. Sirius had no children for the house to go to, but Harry was as good as.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Standing on a residential street in Islington, you watched as the house appeared as if from nowhere. Appearing amongst number eleven and number thirteen as if it had always been there; as if it was part of the furniture at this point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thick dust covers each and every surface. Simply opening the door sends a cloud of dust into your face; leaving you coughing and sneezing as Harry battles the enchantments placed upon the home after the death of Albus Dumbledore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Turning your gaze to Harry, you could remember the last time you had stepped foot in the ancestral home of the house of Black. It hadn’t been long after Sirius’ death; Harry’s gut-wrenching screams still echoing in your ears as you had bundled him up in any blankets you could find and sat him down at the kitchen table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn’t spoken much; he hadn’t even cried. Instead, his face set in steely determination, his desperate need to avenger his godfather overriding any common sense. That night, instead of comforting him and drying his eyes, it had been argument after argument, trying to make Harry see sense.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took hours; the both of you tired not only from the arguing but from the grief sitting on your shoulders. It took hours, but Harry eventually agreed with you, choosing to sit back and wait for the right moment instead of lunging headfirst into attack that would surely get him killed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Memory after memory washes over you, dragging you into its grips. If the memories are this strong for you, it was not hard to imagine how it must be for Harry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You focus your attention on him, watching him warily as he wanders further down the hallway, heading for the kitchen where you still expect to hear Sirius’ raucous laugh despite years having passed since his death.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How are you feeling?” You ask; running a finger across the now clean surface of the kitchen table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry releases a shuddering breath. “I thought,” He starts, “I thought by coming here it would help me come to terms with Sirius and what happened in the Department of Mysteries but being here simply makes me hate his family more.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What makes you say that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry gestures to the large room. “He hated being here. He despised being locked up in the house that he left at sixteen, but he wanted to help the Order, so he stayed here and let it be used as the headquarters.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That… That is a very noble thing to do,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the man in front of you, taking in his tight fists and clenched jaw.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry laughs without humour, “The noble house of Black.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence lapses and the tension in the room only increases. Biting your lip, you can only think that this was the wrong thing to do, that this is only pushing Harry further away instead of helping him come to terms with the last years of his life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We can leave, Harry,” You remind him, “We can leave right now and do this another day, when you’re more ready.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his funk but also steadfastly refusing to go. He’s made this far; he’ll see it through to the end. He throws you a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes and your heart cracks a little.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Holding a hand out to you, Harry states, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The room he enters is one he has told you about countless times; describing it with so much detail that as you enter the room behind him you feel as if you’ve already been inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It cannot be denied that the tapestry is nothing short of piece of art. It cannot be ignored that the depth of detail to the Black family tree is not breathtaking, but at the same time it is so utterly heartbreaking to see the scorch marks litter the walls. The consequence of turning against one’s own family, you think as you step further into the room, taking in its beauty but also its darkness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The noble house of Black,” Harry spits, gesturing to four walls, pointing at each scorch mark before settling on the one that once showed the portrait of his beloved godfather.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He got out,” He states brokenly, “He left his blood family to live with his found family. He had a life ahead of him. He had my father, he had Remus. He had his family, and it was all taken away in one night. In one night, Sirius lost his best friend and then his freedom.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And all I feel when I think about Sirius is anger. At how he was treated. He was good, (Y/N),” Harry states, his tone pleading, full of emotion, “He was good, and he was treated like shit. His real family didn’t care but his found family did and then he lost all of it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He found you, Harry,” You remind him, “Sirius found you. You didn’t have half as long with him than what you should have, but he made sure to be involved in your life. After the Triwizard Tournament and you had come back with Cedric, Sirius would not leave your side in the hospital. I remember seeing him every morning and he would stay every night. He loved you, Harry – remember that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And what did I do?” Harry laughs, “I got him killed. Some godson I am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius’ death.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He scoffs, disbelief and derision echoing off the walls. You stalk over the green eyed man, your determination growing with every step. You grab his face in both your hands, bringing his face to your level, “Listen to me, Potter. Are you listening?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nods, eyes wide and voice silent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good,” You smirk before turning serious. “You are not to blame for Sirius’ death. He knew what was happening in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that there was a chance he was not going to come out of there alive and he still went in to find you, to protect you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I had paid more attention to what Voldemort showed me though… I could have figured out it was fake…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You shake your head, “You were a sixteen year old boy, barely trained in occlumency and legilimency. You weren’t to know that what you had seen was fake. All you saw, Harry, was someone you care about being tortured. You acted on instinct.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Foolish instinct,” He argues.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You roll your eyes, “Not foolish at all. More brave than foolish.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry remains silent; letting your words sink into his skin, binding them to his bones. It isn’t going to be as simple as one speech and all is forgiven, it is going to take time to forgive himself for the death of his godfather. There is always going to be an element of himself that believes strongly that he was the cause of Sirius’ death; if he hadn’t acted so rashly, if he had stopped to think things through, to go over exactly what Voldemort had shown him, Harry might have been able to delay Sirius’ death.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If, if, if.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If, if, if. He repeats that word; hindsight is a wonderful thing. If he had done this, if he had done that. Hindsight was going to be the death of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry focuses his attention back on you and the warmth of your hands on either side of his face. Gently, Harry places his hands on top of yours, “Can you let go of me now?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You smile before pursing your lips, pretending to think through the answer. “I don’t know,” You ponder, “Are you going to continue to argue with me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Probably,” Harry admits, “But I’m ready to go now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry lets his hands drop from yours, his eyes running over your face before stepping back. Your hands drop to your sides, clenching as if they wished to be touching him some more. His face feels cold now that you’ve let him go, as if all the warmth his body carried was in your hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you think you’ll come back?” You ask, unable to help yourself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry pauses, closing the door to the Black family tree behind him. He looks up and down the hallway; thinking of the memories he has cherished over the years. He had Sirius in his life for far shorted than he deserved, but he had Grimmauld Place to help him discover the man he idolised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Meeting your stare, he nods. “I think I will eventually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands, December.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit; it didn’t matter how long it had been since you roamed the corridors of the place you once considered your second home, seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry rise out of the Scottish Highlands would never be something you could get used to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From your spot in Hogsmeade, you can just make out the turrets of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Slight unease spreads through your chest as you think back to the last time you had been at the school; still a student, hurling curses and jinxes at any Death Eater that happened by you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reflexively, you curl your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. You gasp slightly as the pain; your mind becoming clearer and your focus becoming sharper. Harry’s hand takes yours; unfurling your fingers and replacing them with him, tangling your hands together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“(Y/N), are you okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You take a deep breath; mentally working through the exercises given to you by your therapist,. Shakily, you smile at Harry, “I’m okay, Harry, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll always worry about you,” He says gently before continuing, “I’ll be okay though. I have you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You smile weakly; letting yourself be led through the well-worn path from Hogsmeade to the school. Small conversation is made; Harry bringing up happier memories of your education at the magical castle. The time when Ron received a Howler from his mother; the time when Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Happier times now turned to memories; each one tinted with age.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hogwarts soon looms in front of you both. Harry’s hand tightens on yours, fingers squeezing to the point of cutting off blood flow as he leads you into the grounds of the school.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels like coming home, but it also feels like facing your worst enemy. The Battle of Hogwarts had been hard on everyone who found themselves there; it had been hard for students and teachers. You would never forget the screams and the sound of breaking stone. It would be a long while until the sight of dead bodies could be scrubbed from your mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greets from the stairs; voice warm and fond, “To what do we the pleasure of this visit with Miss (Y/L/N)?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was hoping to walk the school and its grounds for a bit, Professor. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m trying to get better,” Harry states; sincerity ringing in his voice so much so that even McGonagall looked to be taken aback by his words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nods; finding her voice but needing to clear her throat first of all the emotion he had brought up, “Of course, Potter. Take as long as you need.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry smiles at the beloved Professor gratefully, stretching out a hand towards you. You take it, resisting the urge to tangle your fingers together as Harry leads you to the Great Hall. “Where do you want to start?” You ask; eyes scanning the familiar walls, lingering on the Gryffindor table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Harry admits, sounding lost as his eyes dance around the repaired room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s strange for me too,” You whisper, voice loud in the cavernous hall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was entirely destroyed,” Harry recalls, sweeping his gaze over the large wall of windows by the Ravenclaw table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You hope up on the closest table, crossing your legs as you watch Harry work through it all in his mind. He hadn’t been in the hall too long, but even that was long enough to have to branded into your memories.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The tables were pushed back against the wall,” He states, gesturing to both walls before sweeping his hands above the floor, “And bodies were laid out on the floor, resting on blankets and towels,” Harry turns towards the staff table, pointing to a flagstone just in front of it, “That was where Fred laid – Molly and George crying over his body,” Harry spins, his finger now pointing back in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, “Remus and Tonks rested there. Teddy, my Godson, now an orphan… like me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So many lives lost,” He whispers brokenly; eyes lined with tears that won’t fall, no matter how sad or broken he feels.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You slip off the table, going to his side and clutching his hand. “We lost a lot that day,” You whisper, “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t feel that same loss, Harry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was terrified of finding you laid out in the Great Hall,” Harry admits though not for his own good; he’s coming too close to admitting his feelings for you, but this is something he had never told a living soul, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to tell you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” You ask, all thoughts emptying out of your head as you focus on Harry entirely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was terrified of finding you in the Great Hall. I was so scared that I even hesitated at the door, wondering whether to walk in or walk away. I have dealt with a lot, and will continue to deal with a lot, but if there is one thing I cannot cope with the idea of, it is you hurt or worse,” He takes a deep breath, “The Battle of Hogwarts brought that out of me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m here, Harry,” You reassure, “I’m here and I’m whole.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know that now, but then I didn’t and even thinking of it drives me close to madness.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t leave without saying anything,” You laugh, “You know that Harry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry laughs, but there’s no heart to it. “I have you now, that’s something.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your heart skips a beat; thudding in your chest so loud you believe that it is entirely possible that Harry could hear it pounding away in your chest. You lean in, hiding your face in Harry’s shoulder – a rare moment of tenderness from both of you. Harry’s hand slips from yours to wrap around your waist, holding you to his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hiding your smile in Harry’s shoulder, you murmur as loud as you dare, “You have me now, Harry. You have me forever.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Neither of you make it further around the grounds of the castle; sticking to its interiors, wandering the corridors when students are firmly placed in classrooms, not wanting to be a distraction to their education.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s words continue to play through your mind; how he would not be able to cope if he lost you too. It makes this all more important for you, helping him come to terms with what he has experienced in such a short amount of time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, a small part of you rejoices in his admission, the words echoing in your head with a hint of hope. A hope that Harry may feel the same as you after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hogwarts is left with a wave to McGonagall and a promise to write soon. Harry’s muscles relax the further he gets from the castle; the tension leeching away as he breathes in fresh air and Hogsmeade comes into view. He adored Hogwarts; it was his home, but he had to admit that it would be a while before he could face the whole castle without wanting to scream at the walls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a start however, Harry thinks as he grabs your hands and apparates the two of you back to his flat. It’s a start, he thinks, and now for the rest of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Little Hangleton, England, January.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Little Hangleton resides six miles from its paired village Great Hangleton. Little Hangleton was very much a village that was powered through gossip; the rumour mill only grew upon the deaths of the Riddle family. By the time an arrest had been made, the town had become judge, jury and executioner – sentencing poor Frank Bryce to a life of social exclusion even after being proven innocent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Little Hangleton is made up of one main high street; five or six shops with a pub near the middle. It has a small village green where the local cricket team likes to practice every Saturday morning. It isn’t an extraordinary village; plain in comparison to other dwellings, but it’s history with the Riddle family would go down in wizarding lore until the end of days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry continues to hold onto your hand long after you apparate into the village, landing in side street rather than in the high street as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. You refuse to be the first to let go; admitting to yourself that you rather like the way his hands fits in yours, how it feels like a steady anchor holding you in place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking one look at the dark haired man next to you, you knew in your gut that this was going to be a hard day for him. Harry doesn’t talk about his nightmares often, but form what he has told you, this picturesque village features enough that you can see the tension line Harry’s jawline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nudging his shoulder, you smile softly, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s hand tightens on yours. He doesn’t reply verbally; nods his head and focuses on finding his destination. He can’t verbalise his gratefulness; he cannot put it into words just what this means to him because Harry is fairly certain there are no words to cover the scope of what he feels for you in this very moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew he was asking a lot of you to keep doing this; to visit these places and relive his darkest times with him. He knew it affected you more than you admitted, but he still was selfishly grateful you choose to come every time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thinks that he wouldn’t have been as half as productive with his feelings if it wasn’t for you. Harry’s feelings for you only having grown through these visits; he remains in awe of you, as he always has been, but now he can no longer deny himself the depth of his love for you. To deny himself that would be a grievous crime.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, even Harry is aware that he is nowhere ready to confront the idea of a relationship. In the last few months, he has only been able to accept that Sirius’ death and your injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts were not his fault.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has to keep working on himself; he has to keep healing so he can be worthy of a love like his parents had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So for now, Harry is more than content to hold your hand with each apparition, to savour the way your hand fits in his perfectly and how each squeeze of your fingers sets his heart racing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For now, Harry is happy to remain in the throes of puppy love, but still eager for the day when he can proclaim his love for you in the hopes that you feel the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Such thoughts are thrown out of his head when his eyes catch the sign for graveyard. His steps falter, before coming to a brief stop by the sign. Your free hand touches his arm and Harry turns to you, seeing the question reflected in your eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you ready?” He asks, voicing the unspoken question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You nod, “Ready when you are.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The graveyard looks just as it did all those years ago; dark and miserable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You shiver as Harry pushes open the creaky metal gate. He holds the gate open for you out of politeness, but he does not return your smile of gratitude. Harry keeps his facial expression neutral as he turns to face the memories that still plague him all these years later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes run over the gravestones as he puts one wary foot in front of the other. You follow behind him timidly, footsteps slower as you too read over the names written in marble, granite, limestone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t take long to find the place. Harry’s feet take him there automatically despite the fact that the last time he was here, he had been apparated in and did not walk out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Reaper stands proudly among the gravestones; his scythe crossed against his body in readiness. Harry stills, coming to a stop in front of it. He tilts his face; staring into the faceless stone hood of the figure that had him trapped like prey all those years ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry doesn’t turn from the figure as he points directly behind him. “That is where he killed Cedric,” He states bluntly, hearing the thud the Hufflepuff’s body made as he landed lifeless at Harry’s side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your eyes leave Harry; body tensing as you make eye contact with the patch of grass that would be the last thing to touch Cedric’s body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry finally turns; gaining control of the anger and upset that had been raging in his body since landing at the graveyard gates. He needs to approach this carefully; he needs to approach all of this carefully, so he doesn’t fall back into the dark pit he found himself in months ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry gestures to the centre of the small copse and then to the Reaper, “That is where I had to watch as Voldemort rose again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh Harry…” You whisper, voice breaking as you say his name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. He had been fourteen years old; he had not had his first kiss and yet, he had to duel the darkest wizard to have been produced in a century.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought I was going to die that night,” He confesses after a moment; opening his eyes to once again focus on the faceless depiction of Death himself. “I thought I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Resolve steels your nerves and once again, your feet find their way to Harry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You did make it out, Harry. You made it out alive.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Two of us went in, (Y/N).”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It can’t be ignored,” You start, “Cedric’s death was an utter tragedy; completely unexpected and blindsided everyone in the school, but you cannot blame yourself for this, Harry. Cedric died at the hands of a madman – not you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I could have done something!” He screams, finally losing all grip on his temper, “I should have done something. Instead, as Wormtail murdered Cedric, all I did was shout his name as if it was going to help. I did nothing, I as good as murdered him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Breath leaves your body in one fell swoop; you had never seen Harry like this. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration as he tries to get a hold on his temper, reigning it in. You remain silent as Harry works to control himself; you watch him pace the small copse, flattening the green grass under his feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Harry,” You sigh, “I am more than capable of handling you shouting at me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve done nothing wrong though, and I just take everything out on you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You laugh, short and sweet, “I think this is the first time you’ve ever shouted at me, Potter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try not to make a habit of shouting at my friends,” Harry states, throwing you a look that states the obvious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wringing your hands together, you brace yourself for your next words. Meeting Harry’s stare, fixing your gaze on him, you politely demand, “Tell me more about that night, Harry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It comes rushing out of him in a torrent; words flying so fast that his speech gets muddled up and he sometimes has to say his sentences again. For so long he has been holding this in; there are very few people who know what happened that night in this very graveyard and out of those, many are dead or imprisoned so Harry has been left to deal with the pain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels like a confession. It feels as if he is seeking forgiveness from his crimes; seeking repentance from a priest of his choosing because he needs to get it out, he needs to know whether penance is possible for the sins committed that night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry feels as if a weight is being lifted off his chest as he tells you about duelling Voldemort and the spell that had taken place beforehand. Harry seeks solace in your comforting gaze and reassuring smile as his voice breaks when he speaks of his parents, not having seen them in any physical form since that night with the Mirror of Erised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. He stutters over his feelings over Cedric’s death, pausing once in a while to let you interject a thought and for the first time since starting this exercise, since asking you to come along with him, Harry feels as if it is starting to work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually, his voice falls quiet as does his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do you feel?” You ask; an expected question that accompanies each location visited.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry nods, “Better. Happy to have finally said what happened that night.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I trust you with my life,” He states honestly and plainly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You bite your lip, averting your gaze to wander across the dark graveyard once more before finally turning to face Harry. “Are you ready?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry nods: more than happy to leave this place and never return. What happened in Little Hangleton will always remain a heartbreaking tragedy; a life cruelly taken before it even got the chance to begin. The village would always be stained with such misfortune, but now, Harry feels that part of his life come to a close. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Harry reaches for your hand, readying himself to apparate you back to your flat, his heart soars at the words you utter with conviction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re a good man, Harry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Landing back at his flat, Harry takes a seat on his couch and hangs in his head in his hands. He had dropped you off at your flat; needing to be alone to deal with the emotions that had been threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. Whilst Harry had accepted that he played no part in Cedric’s death, he still had to confront the magnitude of what had happened to himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It hits him all at once; the scale of what he had been through throughout his education. From the ages of eleven to eighteen, Harry hadn’t seen a school year through without injury or battle. It’s as he sits there that he realises the extent to which he was used by the headmaster he looked up to; used as a pawn to further the game of chess being played by Dumbledore and Voldemort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The waves never cease; his parents, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Cedric.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No tears fall; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to cry anymore. Tears haven’t fallen since they fell out relief for the end of the war, but out of sadness for the deaths of Fred, Remus, and Tonks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sitting on his couch, shivers overtake his body. His teeth chattering as he reaches for the blanket kept across the back of his couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. Harry bites back the scream that is slowly crawling up his throat; he pushes it down as he fights for control of his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Collecting his thoughts, Harry comes to a conclusion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He needs to return to where it all began.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, March. </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Spring blooms real and true, and Harry feels ready enough to return to Godric’s Hollow. Harry could count on one hand how many times he has stepped foot in the village his parents once called home. He had been born in Godric’s Hollow; at the end of July to two loving parents who adored him just as much as they adored each other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Out of respect for James and Lily Potter – murdered at the age of twenty-one – the house in which they lived had never been repaired. The thatched roof remains caved in; a large hole in the middle of it, letting the elements now batter the house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been twenty-two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the house he was born in. It had been five years since he stood outside of it with Hermione; only beginning to feel the grief for the parents he never truly knew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was this that had plagued Harry from the moment he turned eleven and arrived at Hogwarts. How does he grieve for those he never truly knew?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As crass as it is to say, Harry didn’t know his parents outside his need for food, comfort, and love. The memories of his mother and father are so clouded; he can no longer tell whether they are his own or whether he’s simply simulated a story told to him by family friends.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was fifteen months old when they were murdered. He was fifteen months old and barely aware of his own shadow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whilst he hadn’t visited the house much – it being too painful to see the sight of his parent’s murder – he had visited their graves in the years that have passed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With you in tow, Harry leads you down the worn, familiar path. He slows his pace every now and then; warning you of an upcoming dip that may make you lose your balance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All too soon, however, you stand in front of the grave of James and Lily Potter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quietly, he asks, “How do I grieve my parents when I never knew them?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your heart breaks for him; unable to stop yourself, you wrap an arm around his waist offering any form of comfort you can. Shakily, you answer, “I guess you can mourn what could have been or you grieve the fact that they were so young. Either way, Harry, they’re never going to leave you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know that,” He whispers; gaze fixed on the grave of his parents, “All I know of them is what I’ve been told. I feel as if my memories have been tainted, and I know that they all mean well, but sometimes-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He cuts himself off with a huff; kneeling down and drawing out his wand. Silently, Harry conjures a bouquet of Orchids, Chrysanthemums and Lilies and then bows his head in silent prayer, continuing to grieve the parents he would never know.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You place your hand on his shoulder, “Sometimes you what, Harry?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sighs, “Sometimes I wish they would stop. I was so young when they died – any memories I have of them are practically gone but sometimes I have these flashes. I have no idea whether they’re real or not, but I feel as if they are. Yet, when friends tell me stories of what it was like to go to school with them or to fight alongside them, it’s like they’re pushing they’re version of James and Lily Potter onto me. Does that make sense?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Squeezing his shoulder, you answer, “It makes perfect sense. The James and Lily you knew is different from what Sirius knew or what McGonagall knew.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just worry that the more stories I hear, the quicker I lose what I know of them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s possible, Harry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t?” He asks, shifting to his feet and facing you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You shake your head, “I don’t. I think you’re going to remember your parents for the rest of your life; their morals and values make up yours, Harry. You might not think, but you are a lot more like them than you realise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry bows his head, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, begging the feeling to go away. Quietly, almost ashamedly, Harry asks, “Do you think they would be proud of me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then and there, your heart breaks, cleaving itself in two for the man standing before you. It’s the only dream of a child; to make their parents proud, but what about children who do not have parents – who grew up in a home that did not cherish them like it should have?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silver lines your eyes; tears threatening to make an appearance as you reach for Harry’s hands, pulling him into a hug. Against his shoulder, you state with conviction, “They would be extremely proud of you, Harry. So proud of you it would shine out of them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry sniffles; ducking down somewhat to tuck his head against your neck, hiding his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. From the outside, it looks as if two lovers are embracing, unable to keep their hands off the other for too long. However, you know that Harry is trying his best to maintain his composure, to try and gets to grips with the emotions that follow never knowing the ones who were supposed to raise you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minutes pass and neither of you move; neither of you willing to be the one to break this moment, but for the day to progress, you need to step away from the only man you have ever loved.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Releasing Harry, you send what you hope is a reassuring smile in his direction, “Come on, Harry,” You prompt, “Show me the rest of Godric’s Hollow?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Framing it as a question, you offer Harry the choice. He is in control of this moment; h can choose whether he shows you the rest of the wizarding village or whether the two of you apparate back to his flat and spend the rest of the day mooching about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry smiles: it’s watery, but fixed as he nods, stepping around you to lead you out of the graveyard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hands brush every now and then as the both of you wander back to the high street. A simple brush of hands, a simple twitch of fingers and your heart would start to race, practically shouting for Harry to take your hand and tangle your fingers together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think I’m going to live here,” Harry murmurs; eyes scanning the high street.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure?” You ask; worried not only for the fact that you may miss him while you remain in London, but also for any potential setback this may cause him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry nods; his eyes now focused on a small café straight across the road from where you stand. He gestures towards it with an open hand, “Let me explain over some food.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bell above the door tinkles as you follow Harry inside. He chooses a table on the left hand side of the shop; sitting at the seat that faces the window and the door. It’s with stark realisation that you come to see that he’s chosen this exact spot so he can have eyes on each entrance and exit point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You sigh as you sit across from him; old habits die hard, you guess.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Menus are placed in front of you by a teenaged witch looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in Harry’s form; the menu in her hand shaking as she places it down before him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You bite your lip to repress the ever-growing smile on your face as you watch the waitress grow flustered under Harry’s smile and green eyes. She walks away in a daze after having taken your drink orders – coffee for Harry, Yorkshire Tea for you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You shake your head fondly at the young witches departing figure; noting how she bumps into numerous tables before making it safely to the kitchen. Harry follows your gaze, wanting to know what’s taken your attention from him, “What is it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You shift your gaze back to the wizard, “You still don’t see the effect you have on people, do you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry frowns; his hand reaching up to touch his forehead self-consciously. He had grown his hair longer in order to cover the scar that mars the centre of his forehead; his black hair now fell around his head in curls he didn’t know he had until you had found an old picture of his father. The glasses and the curls along with the smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts; he was the spit image of his father.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not your scar, Harry, nor your name. I meant how you look; you have to know you’re handsome.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blush paints Harry’s cheeks as your words settle. The last thing he expected from today was to be told he was attractive; least of all, from you. He’s never had the chance before; to act upon his feelings for you. He realised just what he felt for you at the end of Sixth Year, and then the war happened, and he absolutely refused to let anything happen to you. He couldn’t tell you his feelings for you should it put a target on your back, and if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He laughs, shaking his head, “You’re a flatterer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You hold your hands up in playful surrender, “Only speaking the truth. You’ll see it one day.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“One day,” He promises; eyes earnest as they gaze into yours.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s too much; just like that, it’s too much and you have to avert your stare before you end up blurting your inner most thoughts and scaring him away for good. Clearing your throat, you wait for the teenage waitress to place your drinks in front of you before you change the subject, “Why do you want to move here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry shrugs, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink, thinking over his words. “I think,” He begins, “I want to be close to them, but I also want to start carving out my life properly and this place is so peaceful. It’s so peaceful and it’s beautiful. I think it’s one of those places that if I don’t move here now, I’ll still move later on.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You nod, “I get that. It is gorgeous here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry hums, “I’d still be in London every week.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’d commute?” You ask, puzzled in terms of train schedules.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry barks out a laugh that turns into silent shaking of his shoulders as the teenage waitress returns, her pad in hand as she waits for your food order. Harry continues to repress his laughter throughout his order. As the waitress walks away, you fix Harry with an unimpressed stare. “Are you going to let me in on the joke?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry smiles at you; as in, he really smiles at you. He beams as he whispers somewhat in awe, “I love you. You’re one of the smartest witches I know, and you still forget about the fact that we can apparate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You reel back in your chair, knees knocking into the table as the air leaves your body in a single breath. “What? What did you say first?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s smile, if possible, grows as he shrugs his shoulders, “I love you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Since when?” You demand, wondering how on earth he could discuss something as important as this as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sixth Year,” He confesses, blush beginning to paint his cheeks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That long?” You ask, voice hushed, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry finally frowns, finger tracing the lip of his coffee cup, “There was a war, and then I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confess his love for you, you admonish yourself. He had defeated the Dark lord and then had to cope with the survival guilt for years. It had only been in the last year that he finally let himself let go of the guilt surrounding the casualties of war.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I love you too,” You admit, chewing on the inside of your cheek from nerves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You do?” Harry asks, about as breathless as you were when he confessed only moments ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do,” You confirm, smiling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It isn’t much in the way of confessions, but the look on Harry’s face says it all. His green eyes remain bright and the smile wide on his face even as the waitress returns with your food. He looks as if no wrong could be done in that moment; the food could be the worst he has ever eaten but it wouldn’t matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You love him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You love him as he loves you, and suddenly it all makes sense. His motivations through the war; not only wanting to rid the world of Voldemort but wanting to secure a safe future in which he can love you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The food is eaten quickly; the both of you rushing to make it outside where you can talk more, and in private.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bill is paid. The waitress wanders back to the till; stunned at the sight of Harry’s smile – and you couldn’t blame her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry stands from his seat, reaching for his jacket and waiting patiently for you. Electricity thrums between you; holding promises of more to come, the headiness of it having you gripping the table tightly as you rise to your feet. One look at Harry’s face and you know he’s feeling it too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pausing outside the small café, you hold your hand out for Harry to take.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A soft breeze blows through Godric’s Hollow, disturbing your hair and the trees around you. Harry holds onto your hand tightly as the both of you begin to wander down the high street; the blossoms of the trees fluttering around you as they fall to the floor. Harry inhales deeply; the floral of the blossoms mixed with the sweetness of your perfume providing the perfect backdrop to his future.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Harry’s Flat, London, England, September.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Healing is a process. It is neither quick nor slow; it follows its own pace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Through this process, Harry has realised that he is in fact getting better. He has his bad days; days where he seldom leaves his bedroom and refuses to stare at anything but the wall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, those days are becoming scarcer. Harry can sometimes go weeks before he has an episode that leaves him bedbound, and for that, he is proud of himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t do it alone; he has you by his side through it all as you both prepare for the move to Godric’s Hollow. For both the good and the bad days.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading!! Please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed!!</p>
<p>Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite</p></blockquote></div></div>
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